


Grimm Secrets

by actualmisterbranwen



Series: Lightning Scars and Shattered Moons [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, RWBY
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, So much angst, basically harry potter but with grimm, whole lotta profanity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27447304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualmisterbranwen/pseuds/actualmisterbranwen
Summary: "The Creatures of Grimm are spawned from hatred itself, born without conscience or the concept of mercy.  They won't spare you if you beg, plead, or try to reason with them.  If anything, that will only get you killed faster.  They feed on negative emotion... Anger.  Despair.  FEAR.  These things call to them; draw them in like flies to fetid meat.  They come into being with a singular purpose: to kill anyone and anything that crosses their path.  They have toppled cities, collapsed empires, wiped out entire populations, anything to perpetuate their own wretched existence.  If you encounter a Grimm alone, well... you'd better hope you can outrun it.  If the Dark Lord had had the Grimm in his control when he was in power... you'd be as dead as the parents who gave their lives for you, Potter."The Headmasters couldn't keep the sister worlds a secret forever.  So when Grimm begin appearing in the Wizarding World without anyone to protect the people, they knew they had to act quickly.  But what will happen when attacks begin taking place at the school, leaving fear and distrust in their wake?
Series: Lightning Scars and Shattered Moons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005309
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue: The Other Headmaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozpin and Dumbledore have a little chat.

Albus Dumbledore was a man of many secrets, a fact known by the entire Wizarding World. Some entrusted to him by others, some were personal, and some secrets were simply too dangerous to share with another living soul. A prime example of which took the form of the tall, thin man in green who currently sat opposite his desk, who had remained the most well-kept secret since his discovery in Dumbledore’s early days as Headmaster. The man rested one hand atop his cane, while the other held a steaming mug of cocoa emblazoned with a pair of crossed axes, which he sipped as his hazel eyes studied Dumbledore from behind dark spectacles.

“So, it seems as though things have begun to turn around for your side, haven’t they?” he was saying, a smile playing about his pale face. “That is…” He set down his mug and picked up the copy of the Daily Prophet from between them. “If these headlines are to be believed.” Dumbledore nodded gravely, and the man returned the paper to the desk, watching the moving photos with an idly amused expression.

“Yes,” Dumbledore replied. “The Dark Lord has indeed fallen. Our world is once again at peace.” 

His companion leaned forward, both hands resting on his cane.

“And yet despite the good news, you seem troubled,” he said.

“I  _ am _ troubled,” Dumbledore said solemnly. “This temporary reprieve did not come without terrible sacrifice, my dear Professor Ozpin. A family was torn about that night.”

“Temporary?” 

The Headmaster of Hogwarts rested his chin on his folded hands, looking weary. 

“While young Harry Potter’s survival was nothing short of extraordinary, enough to strip Voldemort of his powers - what a  _ remarkable _ magic Love is - I do not believe it was enough to truly vanquish him. Obsessed with immortality as he was, he must have had a failsafe just in case. What it could be, right now, I am not certain. But one day, I know, he shall return.”

“What about the boy?” Ozpin asked quietly, his tone matching the somber mood. Dumbledore rubbed his temples, looking tired.

“I’ve taken care of everything for now,” he said. “He has been placed somewhere safe, protected in ways most witches and wizards could not fathom. And when it is time, he will return to the magical world.”

“And when Voldemort returns?” Ozpin’s face betrayed no emotion, but his eyes were intense as he awaited Dumbledore’s reply.

“We will have to ensure that the boy is ready.”

The two fell quiet for a time, the silence broken only by the gentle snoring of the past Headmasters and Headmistresses feigning sleep in their frames - they could be seen sneaking glances from beneath their eyelids - and Ozpin sipping his cocoa. The pair sat lost in thought until long after the sun had set, when Ozpin regarded Dumbledore once more.

“I must say, it’s the conversations we have during these meetings that make me rather thankful that our worlds are so sparsely connected.” he said pleasantly, as though discussing the weather. “The last thing Remnant needs is the wrong wizard slipping through and encountering the wrong people.” His expression darkened slightly. “We’ve already lost Mountain Glenn and several smaller settlements, the Grimm are multiplying at an alarming rate, and the few Silver Eyed Warriors that remain are slowly going missing. Can you imagine the state of things if She got her hands on a few Death Eaters as well?”

“Something tells me I’d prefer  _ not _ to imagine it.”

“Something tells you correctly.” Another pause, and then,

“Speaking of…” Dumbledore said quietly. “How is…?”

“Quite well, not to worry,” he said. “It seems my initial apprehension was for nothing. The arrangement is working out just fine.” He drained his mug, then looked thoughtfully toward his friend. “Unless you’d like to call off the deal now that you’ll have some free time, of course.” Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to twinkle.

“I wouldn’t dream of it when I know how badly you want his attendance at Beacon Academy,” he replied with a sly wink. Ozpin chuckled.

“Well, alright, you’ve got me there,” he admitted, getting to his feet. “It’s not often I get to train a wizard to be a Huntsman, after all, and he’s already showing great promise. It would be a shame to waste that potential. Ultimately, however, it should really be his decision, don’t you agree?”

“But of course, old friend.”

“Then I suppose our meeting has come to an end. Not that I don’t enjoy your company, but if we're only to meet in dire circumstances, I do hope it’s quite a long time before we see each other again.” Dumbledore stood, and the two embraced warmly before Ozpin turned and rapped his cane sharply on the office door. A brilliant green light shone from behind it, then it gently swung open to reveal, instead of the usual revolving stone staircase, a spacious, well-lit office with large windows and a giant clock face in place of a proper ceiling. Ozpin stepped across the threshold, then turned to look back.

“Until next time, Professor Dumbledore.” he said.

“Farewell, Professor Ozpin.”

The door closed itself with a soft click, the brilliant light flashed once more, and then it and the other Headmaster, were gone.


	2. Grimm Tidings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has a nightmare; Ozpin gets some bad news; Qrow gets a mission.

Harry was in a dark room, sitting alone on the dirty wood floor. He looked around, trying to make sense of where he was and how he’d gotten here, squinting as he tried to make out his surroundings in the pale moonlight that filtered in through the grimy window. He brushed dust from his clothes as he stood up, grimacing slightly at the musty, rotten smell that permeated the room. He pulled out his wand, eyes searching the darkness for any sign of movement.

_ “Lumos _ ,” he whispered, the light from his wand tip illuminating the room with its faint glow. The furniture was old and mismatched, damaged in places and covered in heaps of filthy rags. The floor was littered with dirty dishes, half-eaten rotting food, and several dark splotches that looked horribly like dried blood. A ragged old couch sat empty in the corner, a heap of blankets next to it on the floor. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. Cautiously, Harry made his way to the window and peered out through the moth-eaten curtains at the unfamiliar cobbled street and rundown houses beyond the glass. Loud voices and a faint light came from what appeared to be an old-fashioned pub down the street, but otherwise, there was nothing but silence and dark.

Turning back to the room, Harry moved toward the door when a sudden scrabbling noise made him jump. He raised his wand higher, searching for the source. A dark shape darted across the far wall and under the bed, the sound of claws on wood deafening in the silence. He took a step backward, a sick feeling of dread settling in his stomach. The heap of blankets on the food began to stir, a rattling sound coming from its depths. It began to rise from the floor, chunks falling to the ground with muffled thumps. The chunks writhed and squealed, morphing into huge black rats before his eyes. White spikes erupted from their bodies, burning eyes staring at him from behind skull-like masks, their jaws wide and drooling. They continued to shriek and writhe, scuttling toward him, their eyes rolling in their sockets. Harry stumbled backward, trying to get away but they’d grabbed hold of him, clawing their way up his legs, scratching him through his clothes.

He shouted and tried to throw them off, their claws hooking into his flesh, holding on. It was as though the darkness itself was enveloping him, immune to his increasingly frantic struggling. Their tails wrapped tightly around his arms and legs, holding him in place, sending him crashing downward. As he thrashed, the final and largest rat fell heavily to the floor, massive spines jutting violently from its body, its neck and shoulders covered in thick, bone-like armor. It tore its way up onto his chest, its weight forcing the air from his lungs. With a horrible shriek, it reared in front of his face, before lunging forward and tearing into his flesh as he woke in his bed at the Dursleys’, drenched in a cold sweat.

Breathing heavy, he sat up and reached for his glasses, looking wildly around as if to reassure himself that he was indeed here, and the room with the rats had, in fact, been a dream. The familiar sight of his bedroom greeted him, and he breathed a small sigh of relief, even as he unconsciously ran a hand over where the rats had cut him. He shivered, then turned to check the time. 1:13 am. Harry got out of his bed and looked out the window onto Privet Drive below, feeling restless. Everything was normal, although he half expected to see a dark shape scurry under a streetlight. He closed his eyes and tried to picture the room again, but all he could think of were those horrible red eyes and drooling mouths.

He’d had strange dreams before, though nothing ever quite like this, and the few that had left him feeling this unsettled had always involved Voldemort. Despite the lack of pain, Harry’s fingers went unconsciously to his scar. The fact that he was this afraid without his scar hurting made Harry even more uneasy than the dream itself had.

It must just be leftover stress, he reasoned. His head was still processing his encounter with Voldemort a few weeks prior, and was conjuring up horrific nightmares as a result. Harry wondered briefly if he’d gone mad.

_ Not the best way to end the first month I’m stuck here, _ he thought bitterly, thinking longingly of Hogwarts. Summer break had been crawling by at an agonizing pace. Had he received even a single letter so far from Ron, Hermione or Hagrid to hold him over, perhaps September the first wouldn’t seem so far away, but alas, this was not the case. He was beginning to wonder if his friends had forgotten him. With a sigh and a final glance outside, Harry removed his glasses and settled back into bed despite his agitation, unable to doze off until the sun had already begun to rise.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Meanwhile, Ozpin paced sleeplessly in his office, glancing now and again at the documents strewn across his desk with a troubled expression. His cane and footsteps echoed in time with the huge clock that ticked away above him, and while he normally drew a certain amount of comfort from the sound of Time’s steady march forward, today, his mind was far too vexed.

When pacing failed to relieve his tension, he returned to his desk, running a hand through his untidy silver hair as his eyes swept over the headlines from the other side. They seemed to shout his worries from their pages: sightings of monsters all over the country unlike anything anyone had ever seen. Attacks on magic and non-magic people alike. The Ministry of Magic scrambling to repair the damage left in the monsters’ wake. Tales of bone-white masks and eyes that burned red with hatred and fury. Even if he’d wanted to, there was no denying what it all meant. Ozpin rested his head in his hands.

Ten years. It had been ten years since his last contact with their neighbor world, when he’d been summoned and informed of the Dark Lord’s defeat. Until last night, when a grim-faced Dumbledore had appeared in his office to deliver the news of what they’d been dreading since their link’s discovery many, many years ago:

The Creatures of Grimm had invaded the other world.

What else would bleed through if they did not seal the leak, he wondered? Would Dumbledore’s world succumb to their invaders? Would Voldemort find his return to power from this side? Would Death Eaters make an appearance in Remnant? He shuddered at the notion.

Lost in thought as he was, Ozpin scarcely noticed as the door to his office slid open and Qrow sauntered in, his signature red cloak trailing behind him.

“You look like crap,” he observed, taking a swig out of his flask, as Ozpin hastily gathered the newspapers and reports, stowing them in his desk drawer. “When you called me up here at this godforsaken hour, I should’ve known you were up working all night again.”

“Good morning, Qrow,” Ozpin said mildly, as if he hadn’t heard. He picked up his signature mug, and Qrow frowned..

“Oz,” he said impatiently, though genuine concern could be detected in his voice. “How exactly are you expecting to run this place if you don’t sleep once in a while?”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing the students are in the hands of such capable teachers,” he said simply. Qrow rolled his eyes, leaning against the nearest pillar.

“If you say so,” he said, though he pressed no further. “What do you want?” Ozpin set his cup on the desk and stood with his back turned, moving to look out one of the massive windows.

“I’m going to need you to find someone for me,” he said, folding his hands over his cane.

“That’s my job, isn’t it?” Qrow replied. “Who?” Ozpin remained silent for a moment, as if he were suddenly hesitant.

“Do you remember Team SFRN?” he said finally. Qrow gave a single laugh, then drank deeply from his flask.

“Yeah, no forgetting  _ them _ .” he said dryly. “The twins drove Raven and I nuts. If you’re sending me after them, I quit.”

“No, no. I need their captain.”

“Vilkas?”

“That’s him.”

“You do realize it’s been over two years since anyone’s seen him,” Qrow said, sounding doubtful.

“If anyone can find him, it will be you.” Ozpin replied calmly.

“Alright, let’s say I manage to find the guy. What makes you think he’ll even be willing to help out with whatever it is you’re doing? Last I heard he was still pretty pissed off about what happened.”

“I’m sure he can be persuaded one way or another.” Ozpin’s voice had a note of finality to it as he turned to face the dark-haired man. Qrow looked as though he were about to protest, but stopped himself with an irritated grunt.

“Fine,” he relented, turning to leave, hefting his sword behind him. Stopping as he reached the elevator, he glanced back. “Don’t suppose you feel like telling me what’s going on?”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Ozpin replied simply. His jaw set, Qrow nodded, then left, the elevator springing to life as the door closed behind him. Ozpin returned to his desk and retrieved the troubling stack of parchment from the drawer, poring over the newspaper with the moving photos he’d come to expect from the other side.

All he could do now was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm adding some original Grimm in here and there. Enjoy my first addition, the Plaguemaw. I'll link to some art of it at some point.


	3. Ultimatums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dobby gives Harry a warning; Ozpin and Dumbledore visit an old acquaintance.

It was midway through July when the green light shone from behind the office door and Dumbledore was joined once again by Ozpin. Beacon’s Headmaster walked briskly into the office, cane tapping softly on the ground with each step.  
“Hello again,” he said, folding his hands in front of him as he stood opposite his old friend.  
“Ozpin!” Dumbledore appeared pleasantly surprised, though Ozpin noticed the hint of worry that always accompanied his arrival. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. Have you made progress?”  
“No, I’m afraid the connection between our worlds is stronger than ever,” Ozpin replied somberly. “We may not be able to stem the tide of Grimm in time to prevent any serious damage to your world; they’re simply pouring in too quickly. Which is why I’ve come to you with a proposition.” Dumbledore’s eyebrows raised slightly and he motioned for Ozpin to continue.  
“Very soon, your school will be filled with witches and wizards too young and inexperienced to defend themselves against most threats their own world contains, let alone Remnant’s. With such a dense population, the castle will be a beacon for the Grimm. If Hogwarts were to be attacked, even your best professors lack the experience to fully protect all of the students on their own. We must give them a chance of survival should the Grimm problem get worse.”  
“Are you suggesting, Professor Ozpin, that Hogwarts begin to train Huntsmen?” Dumbledore asked.  
“No, no, I don’t think we need to go that far necessarily,” said Ozpin. “They won’t need combat or anything with weapons. A simple identification and survival class should suffice until we can stem the flow from Remnant. Educate them about what they’re up against if contact is unavoidable.” Dumbledore appeared thoughtful, blue eyes pointed toward the ceiling.  
“I can think of no argument against it,” he said after a moment. His gaze returned to Ozpin. “Of course, we’ll need a professor. Given the nature of our secret, I assume you have a trustworthy candidate in mind?”  
“I did have someone in mind, yes,” Ozpin began. “Each member of Team SFRN has become a very capable warrior and with their captain, the secret will remain kept.”  
“Is he willing to return?” Dumbledore asked quietly. Ozpin’s expression turned melancholy.  
“Not entirely,” he admitted. “Qrow managed to track him down a few days ago, but after the incident… well, I had hoped that a position like this would help him get back on his feet, but he’s still too angry to listen to anyone from Beacon.”  
“I gather that now it is my turn to try to convince him,” Dumbledore said knowingly, an amused expression on his face. Ozpin looked up almost sheepishly.  
“Neither myself nor Qrow had any luck getting through to him,” he replied. “Perhaps you might have a better chance.”  
“If he agrees, then I will make the preparations at once,” said Dumbledore. “And if no, we will simply have to choose another to entrust with this secret.”  
“It won’t take long to reach him. He was found fairly close to Vale. Shall we arrange a time, then?” Ozpin asked, pulling a silver pocketwatch from inside his coat. Dumbledore rose from his desk.  
“No,” he replied, opening the gateway with his wand, while a quill scribbled a quick note at his desk seemingly of its own accord. “We should go now. The more time we have to prepare for September, the better. If, that is, you had no other plans this evening.” Ozpin put the watch away with a smirk and gestured for Dumbledore to lead the way, then the two stepped through the door into his office. The door slid closed behind them, only to open again a second later, this time revealing Glynda, who looked taken aback by Dumbledore’s presence.  
“Oh,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “Excuse me sir, I didn’t realise you had company.” She eyed Dumbledore curiously.  
“My apologies, Professor Goodwtich,” Ozpin said as he and Dumbledore stepped past her into the elevator and hit the button. “But we have an errand to run. Keep things under control while I’m gone this evening, won’t you?” Glynda’s back straightened and she nodded.  
“Of course, sir,” she said as the door slid closed.

Twenty minutes later found the Headmasters aboard an airship bound for the nearby island of Patch, a place Dumbledore had visited only once before, years ago.  
“I believe he assumed no one would think to look for him so near to Vale,” commented Ozpin, hands folded on his cane as he looked at the city beneath them. Dumbledore watched the rapidly passing landscape below and took a moment to appreciate what the Muggles of Remnant had achieved without magic. Even the ones from his side would have been impressed, he was sure. The city below gave way to deep blue ocean, the setting sun gleaming brilliantly across its surface. A pair of Huntsmen in official-looking uniforms were standing beside a nearby corridor, bragging loudly and showing off their weapons to a small group of swooning girls that had gathered about them.  
“Oh dear,” Ozpin sighed as they began to tell incredibly grandiose tales of their feats and adventures, each trying to outdo the other. “I do hope those two aren’t Beacon graduates.” Dumbledore chuckled.  
“How has he been?” he asked after a moment when the water below had gradually become dry land once more. They prepared to disembark with the other passengers, all the while listening to one of the uniformed Huntsmen tell anyone who would listen about the time he’d single-handedly defeated a pack of one hundred Beowolves and an Ursa Major, all without the use of his weapon. It was only when they were away from the crowd and walking to the outskirts of town that Ozpin replied.  
“Not very well, I’m afraid,” he conceded as they walked, the houses growing increasingly more dilapidated and spread apart as they went. Dusk continued to fall around them, and the sky was dark when Ozpin came to a halt in front of the very last house on the street, which was scarcely the size of Hagrid’s hut, and appeared to barely be standing. It was much closer to the nearby forest than the other houses, falling in on itself in several places, with multiple broken windows, and debris strewn about the small patch of yellow grass that served as a yard. The place looked as though it had been abandoned long ago. They went up the dirt walkway and Ozpin raised his hand to knock on the door.  
“I feel I should warn you,” he said quietly, pausing. “It isn’t exactly a pleasant sight.” He knocked loudly several times without answer until finally there was a shuffling noise behind the door and it creaked open several inches, the chain lock rattling loudly. A bloodshot blue eye set in a pale face appeared at the crack, narrowed suspiciously and framed by clumps of dark, tangled hair.  
“What, you didn’t bother me enough yesterday?” a hoarse voice spat from inside the house. The words were heavily slurred. “What part of ‘I’m not interested’ can you not grasp? Get it through your thick skull, Ozpin, you can go straight to Hell.” The man inside made to shut the door, but Dumbledore stepped forward and held it open.  
“Hello again, Erorael,” he said calmly. “May we come in?” The blue eye reappeared for a moment to stare at him, then vanished into the house with a growl of disgust, unlatching the lock and leaving the door ajar. The Headmasters exchanged a quick glance, then followed him inside. They were immediately hit by the strong odor of stale drink and decay. Ozpin nudged an empty liquor bottle on the floor with his cane, a strange expression on his face. Erorael had thrown himself back onto the shappy couch in the corner he’d clearly been sleeping on, his thin frame draped in ragged, dirty clothes that did not fit him. He was glaring daggers at both of them from beneath the hood of his tattered sweater, a half-empty bottle held in one hand. There was dried blood under his nose, his lip was split and swollen, and his face was heavily bruised, as though he’d recently been in a fist fight. Dumbledore took a seat facing Erorael at the small table in the center of the room, while Ozpin shut the door and stood quietly by the sink, which was overflowing with dirty dishes.  
“So after I tell him no,” Erorael snarled, jerking his head toward Ozpin. “He goes running to you for help to harass me. Never thought the great and mighty Dumbledore would end up someone’s lap dog. How’d he manage that one?” He drained the bottle in his hand. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told him and his little lackey already. I’m done with the Huntsman life and you’re not changin’ my mind. So how’s about you quit wasting all of our collective time and piss off back to your own world?”  
“I’ve come to offer you a job,” said Dumbledore, unfazed. Erorael scowled.  
“Not. Interested.” he said through gritted teeth.  
“I don’t need you as a Huntsman.” Dumbledore continued. “Only your experience as one.”  
“Too damn bad,” Erorael said flatly.  
“Do you not even care to know what it is?”  
“Not in the slightest.”  
Dumbledore rested his elbows on the table and folded his long fingers under his chin, regarding the man on the sofa.  
“Erorael,” he said quietly. “I will not force you into anything. It is your choice to make. But when Professor Ozpin and I took the risks we did to give you a second chance at a life here, this,” he gestured to the state of the man and his living conditions. “Is not the sort of life we’d hoped you’d choose.” He gave Erorael a piercing look over his half-moon glasses. “I won’t pretend that I’m not disappointed.” Erorael glowered.  
“Oh piss off, don’t even try to guilt tripping me like you think it’s gonna work,” Erorael spat. “You think because you did me a favor, I owe you the minute you come calling? We had a deal: I give you inside info on the Death Eaters, and you get me out of dodge. That’s it. We’re even. I owe you nothing.” He grabbed another bottle, shook it, then downed the small amount of liquid that was in it.  
“I’d like to at least present my offer, if you’ll humor me.” Dumbledore replied. Erorael muttered something unintelligible as he reached for yet another bottle, but made no real protest. Dumbledore gave Ozpin a quick look, then turned back to the third man.  
“The Creatures of Grimm have invaded our world,” Dumbledore told him. “Muggle weapons seem to be able to keep them at bay, but the students of Hogwarts will need to be taught how to defend themselves.” Erorael looked at him incredulously for a moment, then laughed mirthlessly.  
“Let me guess,” he said. “You want me to come do it.”  
“That’s correct.” Dumbledore affirmed. Erorael snorted, wiping the resulting blood away from his nose.  
“I know you’ve got questionable judgement in employees, but do I look like teacher material to you?” he asked, brandishing his drink as if to illustrate his point.  
“You were our first choice,” Ozpin chimed in, ignoring the hateful glare Erorael shot him. “You’ve kept our secret for well over a decade. Your team graduated from Beacon with top marks. You’ve had plenty of valuable experience in the field. We believe you’d do quite well in this position.” Erorael appeared unconvinced and as though he would very much rather not continue this conversation.  
“Not that I’m considering it, but what’s in it for me?” he asked slowly.  
“I have nothing to offer but the job itself,” Dumbledore said simply. “We only want to give our students a chance they might not otherwise have against the Grimm.”  
“Besides,” Ozpin added. “I… we think it would be good for you.”  
“I don’t give a shit what you think,” Erorael snapped, his face darkening.  
“All we’re asking,” Dumbledore interjected. “Is that you think about it.” He gave Erorael a pointed look. “We want to spare these children the same fate Miss Fianna met.” Erorael leapt to his feet, throwing the now-empty bottle to the floor where it shattered. His shaking hands were balled into fists and his face was twisted with fury.  
“Get out.” he said, his voice dangerously quiet.  
“Eror,’ Ozpin said calmly. “Think of all the Huntsmen and Huntresses we’ve lost to the Grimm. They had training, and experience. They grew up with the Grimm as a constant threat, an unfortunately normal part of their entire lives, so they had an idea of what to expect. They had a chance. Your teammate had a chance. These children do not, unless someone is willing to give them one. Remnant already suffers enough from these monsters. Should we try to spare countless others the same fate eif we can?” Erorael said nothing, standing still except for his slight swaying. Dumbledore looked at him for a moment longer, then got to his feet.  
“Ultimately, the choice is yours.” he said, turning to leave. “But if I were in your shoes, it would seem a much better existence than drinking alone in the dark.” Erorael made an exasperated noise.  
“Ugh,” he groaned. “I forgot how melodramatic wizards are. Get out, now I’m really not interested.” He pointed to the door with an unsteady hand. The anger, however, seemed to have left him, and he was rubbing his forehead in a tired way.  
“See you September the first,” Dumbledore said knowingly.  
“No you won’t,” Erorael growled. “Even if you let me run the class entirely my way, and even if neither of you ever bring up my team, or any of my teammates - alive or dead - again. I’m not interested. In fact, I plan on drinking enough to forget this entire interaction.”  
“Thank you,” Ozpin said, following Dumbledore with a satisfied smile.  
“Kiss my ass.”

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Mr Vernon Dursley had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud hooting noise from his nephew Harry’s room. Again, Harry protested that Hedwig was merely bored, and again, Uncle Vernon refused to listen. Harry was so fed up with having the same argument day after day that he was almost relieved when the conversation turned, again, to the fancy dinner party the Dursleys were throwing that night for some potential clients of Uncle Vernon’s firm.  
Spending his twelfth birthday in his bedroom making no noise and pretending he didn’t exist was far from Harry’s idea of enjoyable, but he’d long since learned not to expect anything from the Dursleys. Besides, after the sleepless night he’d had the night before, the prospect of playing along with whatever his aunt and uncle would have planned out for him had he been included in their dinner plans was exhausting. Ever since the first dream with the giant rats, Harry’d had several more every few days through the entire summer. More and more frequently he caught himself checking any shadows for movement, or looking over his shoulder as if expecting to see one of the creatures standing behind him.  
Between his growing unease about the dream-creatures and the eyes he’d seen watching him in the garden that afternoon, by the time Harry trudged into his bedroom after a gruelling day of chores and found the little creature with bat-like ears sitting on his bed, he had to clap his hands over his mouth to keep from shouting. The presence of the little creature--who had squeakily introduced himself with a deep bow as Dobby the house-elf-- was enough to drive the other worries from his mind.  
“Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts!” he was saying, clutching at the dirty pillowcase he was dressed in.  
“W-what?” Harry stammered. “But I’ve got to go back - term starts on September the first. It’s all that’s keeping me going. You don’t know what it’s like here. I belong in your world - at Hogwarts!”  
“No, no, no,” squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so vigorously his ears flopped wildly about. “Harry Potter must stay here where he is safe. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in terrible danger!”  
“Why?” said Harry in surprise.  
“Terrible things have begun to happen, Harry Potter!” exclaimed Dobby. “And they will only get worse! Dobby has heard whispers, sir! Whispers of horrible monsters that prowl the night and a plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year! Harry Potter must not go back!” Harry’s blood ran cold.  
“Monsters?” he said immediately. “Like giant rats? Who’s plotting terrible things? Are the rats a part of it?” Dobby made a funny choking noise, and then banged his head madly against the wall. Harry lunged forward to stop him, shooting an anxious look toward the door as the voices downstairs faltered at the disturbance.  
“Alright, so you can’t tell me who’s behind it all,” said Harry, cautiously releasing Dobby once he was sure the elf had calmed down. Dobby shook his head. “How about what the plot is?” Dobby trembled, and Harry accepted that for an answer, hoping to avoid any more self-punishing from the elf. “What about the monsters, then? Can you tell me about them?”  
“Ah sir!” Dobby said in his high-pitched voice. “Dobby has heard his family speak of them, sir! The monsters are new, not seen by wizards even in the time of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They is hunting people! Even the muggles.” The elf beckoned Harry closer. “He is hoping, sir, that the monsters shall aid in the plot! Hogwarts is not safe for Harry Potter!”  
“Why are you warning me?” Harry asked, struck by a thought that made his stomach drop. “Does this have something to do with Voldemort?” Dobby flinched at the mention of the name. “Sorry, er… something to do with You-Know-Who?” Dobby made a strangled noise and immediately punched himself in the face.  
“Please, sir,” he said. “Ask no more of poor Dobby, sir.”  
“Wait!” Harry protested. “Why not warn Dumbledore instead of me? He’s the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. You do know who Dumbledore is, right?” Dobby nodded.  
“Of course, Harry Potter, sir,” he said, bowing his little head almost reverently. “Albus Dumbledore is the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby has indeed heard Dumbledore’s powers rival those of He Who Must Not Be Named at the height of his power, but sir,” Dobby’s voice dropped to a terrified whisper. “There are powers Dumbledore doesn’t… powers no decent wizard… and Dobby fears now that The Error has returned, the danger will…”  
“The Error?” Harry repeated, utterly bewildered. Dobby’s eyes widened as if he’d realized he’d let too much slip, and before Harry could stop him, had grabbed the bedside lamp and begun hitting himself over the head with it between ear-splitting yelps. A sudden silence fell downstairs, followed by Uncle Vernon thumping his way up the stairs, commenting loudly that Dudley must have left his television on.  
“Quick, in here!” hissed Harry, shoving Dobby none too gently into the wardrobe. “And be quiet!” He managed to fling the wardrobe door closed just as Uncle Vernon barged into the room.  
“What the devil are you doing?” he snarled through gritted teeth, his face barely an inch from Harry’s. “You’ve just ruined the punchline of my Japanese golfer joke… one more sound, and you’ll wish you’d never been born, boy!” He then turned and stormed out of the room. As if on cue, the wardrobe door swung open, and Dobby toppled out onto the floor.  
“See what it’s like here?” Harry said as Dobby got to his feet. “See why I’ve got to go back to Hogwarts? It’s the only place anyone cares at all about me, that I’ve got friends, I-I think.”  
“Friends who don’t even write to Harry Potter?” Dobby replied slyly, though he seemed to immediately realize his mistake, looking at Harry fearfully.  
“Hold on,” Harry said slowly, frowning. “How did you know no one’s written me?” Dobby looked guilty, shuffling his feet.  
“Harry Potter mustn’t be angry with Dobby,” he said quietly. “Dobby was only trying to protect…”  
“Dobby, what did you do?”  
“Dobby has the letters here, sir,” said Dobby, pulling a thick wad of envelopes from inside his dirty pillowcase. Harry recognized his friends’ handwriting and made a grab for the letters, but the elf leapt nimbly out of his reach. “Dobby is sorry to have hurt Harry Potter… Dobby hoped that Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him, he might not want to go back to school!” Harary glared at Dobby.  
“Give me my letters.” he said angrily. Dobby clutched the stack to his tiny chest.  
“Only if Harry Potter promises not to go back to school!” he squeaked, his voice quavering as if terrified by his own daring.  
“No!” Harry said. “Hogwarts is my home and you’re not going to stop me!” Dobby’s ears drooped sadly.  
“Then Dobby has no choice,” he said. And before Harry could stop him, the elf had fled the room and darted down the stairs.

The chaos - and subsequent punishment - that followed was worse than Harry had imagined, and the next few days found him lying on his bed, gazing miserably out through the bars that now covered his window. Locked away in his bedroom like a prisoner, insides aching from near-constant hunger, with an official warning from the Ministry of Magic for a hover charm he’d never even performed, and he’d never even gotten his letters. It was though Dobby had dangled a life preserver in front of him while he drowned, only to snatch it away before vanishing forever. Harry thought of Hogwarts and briefly wondered if Hagrid would be sent to retrieve him like last year if he didn’t show up at the start of term.  
Harry sighed and got out of bed, feeling too restless to sleep despite his misery. He stared out at the dark houses of Privet Drive, wishing desperately to be anywhere but here. As he gazed listlessly outside, a sudden movement on the street below caught his eye. Something was moving down the middle of the road, barely visible in the dark of night. It moved on all fours, making no sound as it went. Straining to make out any details before dismissing it as a stray dog, Harry caught a glimpse of a bushy tail and hints of white around its head.  
The creature came to a stop just outside of the streetlight’s glow, and Harry could make out what appeared to be a large black fox. It raised its muzzle to the sky and let loose a horrific shriek that made Harry’s hair stand on end. If he’d not seend what made the sound, he would have sworn he’d just heard a woman’s terrified scream. And yet somehow, no one else seemed to hear it. Uncle Vernon didn’t even stop snoring.  
As if it had sensed his gaze, the beast turned its head sharply and stared directly at him. Harry stifled a cry and ducked out of sight. It had the same awful eyes as the rats from his nightmare. Heart pounding, Harry looked back out the window, but the fox had gone. He scanned the street wildly, but there was no sign of the creature. The incident with Dobby had driven the nightmares and the rats from Harry’s mind, but now they were all he could think about. They were connected, clearly, but what were they? Were these the monsters Dobby had mentioned? Were there more? His mind was so preoccupied by what he’d just seen, he almost didn’t notice the car until it was nearly in front of his window.

And as he and the Weasleys made their escape a short time later, laughing at the sight of the Dursleys hanging dumbstruck out of his window, his ears once more caught the shrill scream echoing through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I might have lifted some text verbatim from the book but somehow it works idk. Anyway I'll have another few chapters up pretty quick since I have quite a few of them written already.


	4. Decisions were made; they were not good ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well... they had to get to school somehow, right?

The rest of Harry’s summer was anything but dull, and The Burrow had quickly become his favourite place in the world - aside from Hogwarts. It was as different from number four, Privet Drive as it was possible to be, and Harry adored every aspect of it, from the ghoul in the attic to the gnomes in the garden. He was so pleased to be taking in what an ordinary wizarding home was like day to day, and was so busy filling in his rescuers about the Dobby fiasco that he completely forgot about the fox and his nightmares until their letters from Hogwarts arrived about a week later.

“What’s this?” he asked as he looked at the additional envelope Mrs Weasley had handed him. It looked similar to the one his Ministry warning had come in.

“Oh, that,” Ron said, returning to his breakfast. “Dad said they were going to be sending those out. We got ours already since he works for the Ministry.” Harry curiously opened the letter and began to read.

_ Dear Mr Potter, _ it read.  _ In light of recent events, the Ministry of Magic hereby issues this official warning to all witches and wizards until such a time that the situation can be brought fully under control. It has been brought to the Ministry’s attention that there have been numerous sightings of strange monsters all over the country. These creatures are hostile and extremely dangerous if approached. Should you or a loved one encounter one, please notify the Ministry of Magic  _ **_immediately_ ** _. They can be recognized by their white masks and red eyes. _

_ In the interest of student safety, the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry are working in coordination with trained professionals to assure that these creatures will not pose a threat to the school or students this year. _

_ The Ministry thanks you for your cooperation and understanding. _

_ Regards, _

_ Bernie Horwick, Dept. of Magical Abnormalities _

“I saw one of those things,” said Harry once he’d finished. “On the night you came to get me.”

“You saw one?” Ron said, pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Blimey, Dad said they’re really dangerous. They’ve already had to cover up a bunch of attacks on Muggles and everything.”

“It was just sort of wandering down the street,” Harry said, looking back to the letter. He shuddered as he remembered the horrible sound that the fox had made. “Do you think I should report it?”

“Well, it’s probably long gone now,” replied Ron, though he looked a tad uneasy. “You’re just lucky it didn’t see you. Dad says the Ministry reckons they’ll go after anything they come across.” Harry said nothing as he turned to his Hogwarts letter, though he couldn’t help remembering how the fox had looked right at him, but rather than attack, had simply vanished into the night.

“Wonder what they’re planning to keep them away from the school?” George was saying as Harry read over his school list - most of which seemed to consist of books written by a ‘Gilderoy Lockhart’. “Even Dad doesn’t know. They just keep saying they’ve got professionals taking care of it.”

“I reckon Dumbledore’s got something thought up,” said Fred, grabbing some toast. “Look at all the protections he’s already got all over the castle. Might be a nutter, but he knows his stuff. Fudge always goes to him for stuff like this anyway.”

“Fudge?” said Harry curiously.

“Dad’s boss,” Ron explained through a mouthful of eggs. “Minister of Magic.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Ronald, where are your manners?” Mrs Weasley piped up. “And that’s enough worrying about all of that, off you go, unless you want to be put to work cleaning!” Despite her words, worry was etched into her plump face. Once the lot of them had trooped out to the paddock on the hill for a game of Quidditch, it was difficult to be worried about much of anything; the wind in their hair seemed to blow their cares away in an instant. Thoughts of the monstrous arrivals and the threat they presented vanished as the group tossed apples back and forth, and so they remained for the rest of Harry’s stay at the Burrow, even though the eventful trip to Diagon Alley and their celebration on the last night of summer.

Despite his love for the castle, Harry was almost disappointed when Mrs Weasley roused him in the early hours of September the first, as it meant the summer had officially come to an end. Ron’s house had felt more like a home than number four, Privet Drive ever had, and he was all too eager to accept the Weasleys’ insistence that he return the following summer.

After a morning of chaos with a large amount of last-minute packing, turning back several times for forgotten items and a tense ride in Mr Weasley’s enchanted Ford Anglia, they pulled into King’s Cross Station at quarter to eleven. The group rushed into the station with their trolleys loaded, scarcely caring if they were conspicuous among the Muggles. Harry caught sight of the barrier between platforms nine and ten that concealed the magical entrance to platform nine and three quarters where the Hogwarts Express sat waiting. They went through in quick succession; first Percy, then Fred and George, Ginny, Mr and Mrs Weasley, and then it was Harry and Ron’s turn.

“Let’s go together, we’ve only got a minute,” Ron said to Harry. Harry made sure that Hedwig’s cage was safely wedged on top of his trunk and wheeled his trolley to face the barrier. He felt perfectly confident, having done this the previous year, and it wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as using Floo powder. The pair bent low over the handles of their trolleys and walked purposefully toward the barrier, gathering speed. A few feet away from it they broke into a run and -

CRASH.

Both trollies hit the barrier and bounced backwards - leaving Harry and Ron to nervously wonder why the gate had suddenly decided not to let them through. Trying to calm the indignantly shrieking Hedwig among stares from whispering Muggles, Harry and Ron anxiously watched the nearby station clock count down the seconds until the Hogwarts Express would depart. Desperately, they tried to push their way through the solid barrier as inconspicuously as possible.

Three seconds… two seconds… one second…

“It’s gone,” said Ron, sounding stunned. “What do we do now? What if Mum and Dad can’t get back through to us?”

“Maybe we should go and wait by the car,” Harry suggested. “Then if they don’t come back, we can think of a way to - “

“Harry!” said Ron, looking excited. “The car!”

  
  


And in no time at all, they were back in the Ford Anglia, and, after an admittedly rocky start with the faulty invisibility booster, soaring above the clouds toward Hogwarts, grinning at their own brilliance. Harry looked out the window as the car’s tires skimmed the surface of the clouds that hung below them like spun sugar, sunlight warming them though the windows. The sky was a striking blue, and the fat toffees from the glove compartment tasted extra sweet.

They made regular checks on the train as they followed it across the countryside, each dip beneath the clouds presenting them a different view. London was soon replaced by neat green fields which gave way in turn to wide, purplish moors, villages with tiny toy churches and a great city alive with cars like multi-coloured ants.

Several uneventful hours later, however, Harry had to admit that some of the fun was wearing off, and even swapping theories about why the gate had locked them out had grown boring. It was hot, they were thirsty, and the cloudscape had quickly lost its appeal. Just as Ron had commented that it couldn’t be much further, Hedwig began shrieking loudly, frantically beating her wings against the bars of her cage. Harry turned to see what was wrong, and was met with six sets of red eyes glaring at him through the back windows.

“Go faster!” Harry shouted as Ron looked at him with a panicked expression.

“What’s going on?” he cried, pressing the gas pedal to the floor. The car shot forward and the engine began to whine loudly. “Come on, car! Almost there!”

“Monsters!” said Harry. “Three of them are following us!” Ron’s face went pale.

“They can  _ fly _ too?” Ron choked. Harry turned back to look at them, still in pursuit, though they’d fallen behind. These were different from the ones he’d seen - the size of horses with cruel, bird-like heads, lion-shaped bodies and large, feathered wings. Two pairs of eyes burned in each of their heads, watching the car hungrily. One of the creatures roared, the sound making the car windows rattle. The windshield wipers began waving feebly as if in protest, and the car began to shudder violently, losing speed. The monsters quickly gained on them, bellowing in excitement.

“No!” Harry yelled. “They’re catching up, we need to go faster!”

“Come on!” Ron cried, pushing the gas pedal as far as it would go. “Go, go, go!” The car lurched forward, its engine groaning, but immediately dropped its speed again, the creatures swiftly rounding on them. 

“We’re almost there!” Harry exclaimed as the castles’ many turrets came into view, its windows blinking like stars against the black sky. One of the monsters threw itself against the side of the car, denting the rear passenger door. Another tore at the metal siding with its wicked beak.

“Just a little further,” Ron pleaded. “Come on car, you can make it!”

The third monster latched onto the car’s roof and pulled itself to the front. The extra weight made the vehicle wobble violently. There was a loud clunk, a splutter, and the engine died completely. They began to fall, the monster’s face appearing in front of the windshield. The other two shrieked in delight as it pecked forcefully at the class, its beak bursting through the center. They too latched onto the car, shattering both rear windows.

“Let go!” shouted Harry as a monstrous set of talons reached in from behind him and tried to yank him out by his arm. Ron drew his wand to jinx the monster, but suddenly, all three beasts shrieked and threw themselves off the car. It fell faster, headed directly for a castle wall.

“Noooo!” Ron yelled, swinging the steering wheel around; they missed the dark stone wall by inches as the car turned in a great arc, soaring over the greenhouses, then the vegetable patch, and then out over the black lawns, losing height all the time.

“STOP! STOP!” Ron shouted, whacking the dashboard and what was left of the windshield with his wand, but they were still falling, the ground rushing up to meet them so fast it made Harry dizzy.

“MIND THAT TREE!” he bellowed, but it was too late - the car had made contact with a deafening bang. Hedwig continued to shriek madly in the back seat, and a faint roar echoed from somewhere far above them. Harry winced at the lump that was forming on his head from their rough landing, then turned to Ron. “Are you okay?” he asked urgently. Ron was staring at his wand - it was snapped almost in half, hanging on by just a few splinters.

“My wand,” he choked. “Look at my wand.” Harry was about to say something reassuring, but something had abruptly hit the side of the car full force, sending it lurching sideways. Ron looked at him in terror. “Monsters?” They looked about, then gasped as a massive branch smashed through the damaged windshield, showering them with broken glass and bits of wood. The tree they’d hit was hitting them back, flailing its branches angrily, slamming against any bit of car it could reach. It seemed they were done for, unable to escape, the car slowly being crushed like a soda can under the tree’s assault when the engine suddenly sprang back to life.

_ “Reverse!” _ Harry yelled, and the car obediently shot backward, out of the tree’s reach. They sat breathing heavily, hardly able to believe their escape once they were safely away, ears straining for any hint of additional danger. The car, however, had clearly decided that enough was enough and forcefully ejected both Harry, Ron, their luggage and animals before rumbling off into the night toward the Forbidden Forest.

“Dad’s gonna kill me,” Ron lamented as it disappeared. “Can you believe our luck?” He miserably picked up Scabbers the rat and stowed him safely in his pocket. “Of all the trees we could have hit, we had to hit the one that hits back.”

“That tree might have been what saved us from those  _ things _ ,” Harry said, though he fervently wished it hadn’t had to be so violent about it. Ron glanced anxiously toward the sky, but there was no sign of the red-eyed beasts.

“Do you think they’re still nearby?” he asked. Harry shivered.

“Let’s not stick around to find out,” he said. “Come on, we’d better get up to the school.” Despite his cold, aching body, numerous bruises, and the gnawing hunger in his stomach, Harry was still bursting with happiness as they climbed the steps to the castle. He felt as though he were returning home after a long time away.

“Hey, Harry, come and look - it’s the Sorting!” Ron said after they’d dropped their trunks at the foot of the front steps, looking into the Great Hall through a brightly lit window. Harry hurried to join him.

The Great Hall looked as spectacular as he remembered, the thousands of floating candles illuminating the house tables below while the bewitched ceiling above twinkled with stars to match the sky outside. The group of terrified-looking first years lined up in front of the staff table as Professor McGonagall placed the tattered, dirty Sorting Hat before them on its customary stool. Harry quickly spotted Ginny’s flaming hair amongst them. She looked as though she were about to be sick. Harry, who had been Sorted into Gryffindor only the year prior, understood all too well. He was grateful in that moment that he’d never have to be Sorted again, especially after the Hat’s insistence on how well he’d do in Slytherin.

A very small, mousy-haired boy had been called forward to place the Hat on his head. Harry’s eyes wandered past him to where Professor Dumbledore sat watching the Sorting from the staff table, his long silver beard and half-moon glasses shining brightly in the candlelight. Several seats along, Harry saw Gilderoy Lockhart - who had taken up the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher - dressed in robes of aquamarine. Hagrid, huge and hairy, sat at the end, drinking deeply from his goblet, and beside Professor McGonagall’s empty chair sat a man Harry didn’t recognize. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, watching the ceremony from beneath the hood of a worn black cloak, face almost entirely hidden by a curtain of long, unkempt hair.

“Who’s that?” Harry asked, pointing him out to Ron, who shrugged.

“Dunno,” he replied. “But look, Snape’s not there. Maybe he’s ill!” His voice sounded hopeful. Harry scanned the table again and saw that Snape’s chair was indeed empty.

“Maybe he’s  _ left _ , and that new guy is his replacement.” Harry suggested. ‘Since he lost out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again - and to  _ Lockhart _ .”

“Maybe he got  _ sacked _ !” said Ron enthusiastically. “About time, too. I mean it’s obvious everyone hates him - “

“Or maybe,” said a very cold voice behind them. “He’s waiting to hear why you two didn’t arrive on the school train.”

  
  


Harry’s heart was in his throat as he and Ron silently followed Snape down to his office in the dungeons. Harry’s stomach growled as they left the delicious smell from the Great Hall behind, but his hunger was soon replaced by a sick feeling of guilt as Snape scolded them, laying out how much trouble they’d caused. He stared at his hands. The Muggles that had seen them, the laws they’d broken, the trouble Mr Weasley was bound to be in when it was discovered to be  _ his _ car…

He felt even worse once Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore were brought in several minutes later, wearing expressions of disappointment, and Harry thought miserably of everything the wizarding world had to offer that he’d never experience, sure as he was that they were about to be expelled. He briefly toyed with the idea of begging to be Hagrid’s assistant so that he could at least be spared having to go back to Privet Drive forever. He and Ron explained themselves, doing their best to leave out details of the car’s ownership, then sat back to admit their inevitable fate. He could not believe his ears when, a moment later, Dumbledore informed them that they would  _ not _ be expelled - not this time. And from the expression on Snape’s face, he could not believe it either. He shot Harry a look of pure loathing as the two men left the room, leaving Harry and Ron alone with Professor McGonagall, who was detailing what their punishment would be and assessing their injuries. Before leaving, she conjured a plate of sandwiches, two goblets and a jug of iced pumpkin juice onto Snape’s desk.

“You will eat here and then go straight to your dormitory,” she said sternly. “I must also return to the feast.”

“Professor, wait!” said Harry, remembering suddenly. “On our way here, before we hit the Whomping Willow… we were attacked by three of those monsters the Ministry’s warning everyone about. They can’t… they can’t attack the castle if they’d followed us, can they?” McGonagall’s brow furrowed for a moment, but she quickly wiped the concern from her face and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“The school is quite safe from them, I assure you, Potter.” she said in a much gentler tone. “Professor Dumbledore has taken extra precautions and put extra protections in place to keep them out of the grounds. You don’t need to worry.” Harry sighed a breath of relief, then helped himself to a sandwich as she left. When the door had closed behind her, Ron let out a long, low whistle.

“I thought we’d had it,” he said, also taking a sandwich.

“Me too,” said Harry through a mouthful of bread and cheese. They ate ravenously, fully aware of their hunger now that the threat of expulsion no longer hung over their heads.

  
  


When they’d eaten as many sandwiches as they could stomach from the magically refilling plate, they left the dungeons and headed up the familiar path to Gryffindor tower, recounting their encounter with the red-eyed beasts as they went, both still in awe that they’d managed to escape at all. Harry hadn’t felt this elated in months, especially after the roaring bout of applause and praise they’d received upon entering the common room.

As he and Ron sat grinning at each other from their respective four-poster beds, nothing could spoil their mood, even the scowls of disapproval that Hermione - and Percy - had been giving them. The dormitory door flew open and in came the other second-year boys, Seamus, Dean and Neville.

“ _ Unbelievable, _ ” beamed Seamus.

“Cool,” said Dean.

“Amazing,” said Neville, awestruck. Harry couldn’t help grinning wider.

He was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone even read these?
> 
> Anyway, shit's about to start pickin' up, have fun.


	5. Gilderoy Lockhart and Professor Vilkas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the new professors are... interesting.

The following morning, Harry felt considerably less triumphant. The arrival of Ron’s Howler, carried by the Weasleys’ feeble and obscenely old owl, Errol, had instead filled him with guilt over the inquiry Mr Weasley was now facing at work thanks to he and Ron. The sound of Mrs Weasley’s voice shrieking through the Great Hall was one Harry was sure he wouldn’t forget any time soon. At least Hermione had warmed toward them - it seemed the Howler had been sufficient punishment for their actions in her opinion.

But there was no time to dwell on his churning stomach; Professor McGonagall was moving along the Gryffindor table, handing out timetables. Harry scanned his, pausing as he noticed the new class added to his class list:  _ Grimm Studies and Basic Defense. _

“It’s a new class for the whole school,” Hermione explained, correctly guessing the cause of Harry’s puzzled expression. “To help us protect ourselves from those monsters everyone’s been talking about. Professor Dumbledore announced it at the Feast.”

“Now that’s a class that would have been useful  _ yesterday _ ,” said Ron, who looked bitterly at his clumsily repaired wand. Harry checked his schedule again, and shortly after, the three set off for their first class: double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs. They crossed the vegetable patch and moved toward the school greenhouses, where the magical plants were kept.

  
  


Harry’s first interaction with Professor Vilkas came just as the trio arrived to their first class. He was standing alongside Professor Lockhart and Professor Sprout, whose arms were covered in bandages. Vilkas and Sprout both looked deeply annoyed, while Lockhart appeared to be lecturing them animatedly.

“I  _ am _ sorry to say it, Vilkas my boy,” he was saying loudly as they approached. “But I’m afraid there won’t be much work left for you to do once I’ve had a crack at those nasty beasts. Dumbledore may have hired you to  _ teach _ about the Grimm, but there won’t be anything to defend against now that I’m here! I’m quite sure I won’t have any problems taking care of them once and for all after everything else I’ve - oh, well of  _ course _ I don’t need to tell you,  _ you’ve _ already read my books of course.” Vilkas’ expression clearly showed that he wouldn’t be caught dead reading anything Lockhart had written, but he said nothing, instead looking over at the arriving students. Lockhart followed his gaze, then beamed at the new arrivals.

“Oh, hello there!” he called brightly. “I was just talking with my dear Professor Vilkas and showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don’t want you running away with the idea that I’m better at Herbo - “ He was abruptly cut short by Professor Vilkas roughly pushing past him.

“You two,” Vilkas in a gravelly voice, pointing at Harry and Ron. “You the ones who took that flying car?” Ron’s face flushed as several people snickered, the Howler still fresh in everyone’s mind.

“Yes sir,” he mumbled, looking down at his feet. Vilkas looked at him for a moment, then turned his attention to Harry. He said nothing, but simply stared. Harry, unsure of what to do, stared back.

Professor Vilkas was tall and very thin, with long, dark hair that fell into his face, so that only his right eye was visible. His face looked as though it were once fairly handsome, but now it was pale and sunken, an unkempt, scruffy beard covering most of the lower half of his face. A large bruise shone on his cheek. Despite his appearance, it was clear he was quite a bit younger than the other Professors at the school. But what caught Harry’s attention the most were the three long, thin scars that ran diagonally across his face, the skin knotted and angry looking. 

“I’m told you two were attacked on the way here,” he said finally. “Before you hit  _ that _ anyway.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the Willow.

“Yes sir,” Harry said. “There were three of them, and they followed us until we got close to the school.”

“What did they look like?” Vilkas pressed. Harry did his best to remember.

“It had a head like a bird,” said Ron, who, from the look on his face, found the new professor quite intimidating. “And a great, black body like a lion.” Several people were whispering, and Neville looked terrified by the description.

“Griffons,” Vilkas muttered. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Yes, of course!” Lockhart said loudly. “I was just about to say the same thing, Professor.”

“Sure you were,” Vilkas said dismissively, without even looking at Lockhart. He glanced at the sky above the Whomping Willow, then back to the boys. “Anything else, or just the three?”

“Just once before, in the middle of the summer,” Harry said. “One like a fox was walking down my street.” Professor Vilkas looked disinterested.

“I’m not being paid enough to care about a Shrieker wandering around if it’s not on school grounds. ” he said, and stalked off toward the castle without another word. Harry and Ron looked at each other with bewildered expressions, while Professor Sprout began to shepherd the students to greenhouse three.

“Well then!” Lockhart said briskly, clapping his hands together. “Now that  _ that’s _ been taken care of, why don’t you go on ahead to class with the others, Mr Weasley? Harry! I’ve been wanting a word - you don’t mind, do you, Professor Sprout?” Professor Sprout looked as though she did, in fact, mind, but Lockhart obliviously grinned and continued to wave the others away. When the greenhouse door had slammed shut, Harry was left alone at the mercy of Lockhart’s ego. He stood in stunned silence as Lockhart rambled away about attention, fame, and of course, himself. Nearly five minutes later, he’d concluded his speech, then he too, headed back toward the castle, humming happily to himself, leaving Harry dumbstruck. The fact that someone could manage to speak for that long without saying anything floored him, and in his confusion, he nearly forgot he was supposed to be in class. Pushing Lockhart from his mind, he thought back to the other new professor as he hurried back to the greenhouse. There had been something a little unsettling about Professor Vilkas, and it wasn’t his scarred face or unfriendly demeanor - although they certainly didn’t help. There had been something about the way Vilkas had stared at him, something almost accusatory.

But whatever it was, Harry was soon far too busy to spend time worrying about it. He’d arrived just in time for Professor Sprout’s explanation of mandrakes, and was now trying to wrestle his into its new pot.

  
  


By the time they arrived in the Great Hall for lunch after a particularly difficult Transfiguration lesson, bodies still aching from Herbology, Harry wasn't in the best of moods. Ron's wasn't much better, his spellotaped wand having had disastrous results any time he'd tried to use it.

"What have we got this afternoon?" Harry asked as Ron sulked into his food.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts and Grimm Studies," Hermione answered immediately. Harry groaned softly. Back to back classes with the two teachers he didn't particularly want to see again right now. At least it wasn't Potions.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Professor Vilkas stood before Dumbledore’s desk, arms crossed, waiting for the Headmaster to finish reading the parchment he held.

"You're sure they won't be a threat?" Dumbledore said, looking at Vilkas over his half-moon glasses. Vilkas shrugged.

"Whatever you did seems to be working," he said. "The Griffons didn't want to get too close to the school according to Potter. So long as we don't get hit by a swarm of Grimm, you've got nothing to worry about.". Dumbledore looked back at the diagram in his hands, studying the Grimm it depicted. 

"Realistically speaking," he asked slowly. "What are the chances of us experiencing one?"

"Next to none," Vilkas replied, apparently unconcerned. “Grimm are mostly drawn to negative emotion, so unless something major happens, we’ll mostly be dealing with the odd pack trying to push their way through. Nothing that can’t be taken care of in an afternoon." Dumbledore remained quiet for a moment.

"Is there any way you'll reconsider, Erorael?" he asked softly. Vilkas scowled.

"Not a chance in Hell." he said. "You want a Huntsman to protect your school, get Oz to send you one." He stared Dumbledore down, his face almost defiant.

"Very well," said Dumbledore, and Vilkas knew he'd won - for now. If Dumbledore was anything like Ozpin - and from Vilkas' experience he was - he'd likely try again… and again… and again… until Vilkas had enough and put a bit of fire Dust in the Headmaster's morning tea.

"That it?" he asked in a tired sort of way. "I've unfortunately got a class to prepare for." Dumbledore nodded, then gestured toward the door, inviting Vilkas to take his leave.

"Yes, of course," he said. "Thank you, Professor." Vilkas inclined his head, then quietly left the office. He made his way through the castle halls, ignoring the students who stared curiously as he passed. He was halfway back to his own office when he felt it. 

He stopped dead, a wave of dread washing over him, his entire body tensing. Something was  _ wrong _ . There was a small squeak of surprise as a small figure who had been walking with their eyes downcast collided with his midriff. He looked down, and was met with a pair of brown eyes, wide with fear, set in a freckled face and framed by a shock of flaming red hair. A Weasley.

"I'm sorry, P-professor," she stammered, backing up a step. Vilkas was unable to speak. His mouth went dry and a feeling of deep, burning anger bubbled inside of him. His hand unconsciously reached for the weapon he no longer carried, and it took every ounce of self control he had to resist the sudden urge he had to strike her. He nodded curtly, then strode away as quickly as he could without breaking into a run. When he'd reached his office, slamming the door shut behind him, he grabbed the nearest bottle and downed its contents, his hands shaking violently. 

Vilkas stood breathing hard, waiting for the firewhiskey to steady him. His stomach was churning. It had felt so horribly familiar. He took another drink and sighed with relief at the heat that spread from his belly, shaking his head as if trying to clear the thoughts that had previously taken root there. 

"Don't be an idiot," he muttered to himself. "That was just a kid." He grabbed a second bottle, draining what little was left in it, and gave a great sigh of relief when his body finally stopped shaking. The bell rang loudly throughout the school, signalling the end of lunch. He looked at the clock. Only one period left before his first class. He let out a low growl, then began gathering the materials he planned to use, stacking them in a haphazard pile on his desk. His hand paused over an unopened bottle, then stowed it inside his coat. Just in case.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Having Gilderoy Lockhart for a teacher was, as Harry came to realize, much like having a "conversation" with him. Except, in class, Lockhart was essentially being  _ paid _ to talk without interruption, and now he had an audience that had no choice but to listen to him. He would have been in his element, were he not so incredibly bad at his job. For everything he claimed to do in his books, one would not expect him to spend the first part of class talking about himself, and then presenting them with a pop quiz - about himself - rather than anything useful. Somehow, Harry felt as though knowing that Lockhart's favourite colour was lilac would not help him in any manner against any part of the Dark Arts. This was a sentiment, it seemed, that many of the other boys shared. Most of the girls, on the other hand, seemed to hang on his every word, and Hermione's quill was scribbling feverishly as she filled in her quiz.

Her enthusiasm seemed to wane ever so slightly half an hour later, however, when Lockhart had managed to set a cageful of Cornish pixies on the class. She, like the others, was now desperately trying to stop them from pulling at her hair or pelting her with schoolbooks. When his spell failed to bring them under control, Lockhart sheepishly ducked out of the classroom with the rest of the fleeing students, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione to round up the little blue nightmares. 

"Can you  _ believe _ him?" roared Ron, as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on the ear. "No wonder Dumbledore had to hire an extra teacher for those other things. This nutter can't even handle teaching us  _ pixies. _ "

"He's just trying to give us some hands-on experience!" said Hermione, immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into their cage. 

" _ Hands on?" _ said Harry, making a mad grab at a pixie that was dancing just out of reach, its tongue sticking out at him. "Hermione, he didn't have a clue what he's doing. Ron's right. Unless Vilkas is any better, we're doomed."

  
  
  


Harry's second interaction with Professor Vilkas came fifteen minutes later, when they'd finally rounded up the last pixie and run as quickly as they could to his class. 

"You're late," he growled as they entered, struggling to catch their breath. He was leaning back in his chair, feet on his desk, and what looked suspiciously like a bottle of firewhiskey with the label torn off in his hand.

"Sorry, Professor," Harry gasped, clutching a stitch in his side. "We had to stay late last class. Professor Lockhart, he -"

"Oh, yeah. That idiot." said Vilkas, as if that explained everything. "Fine, take your seats." He took a long drink while they did as they were told, watching them move across the classroom. "As I was saying…" He got to his feet and placed the bottle on his desk with a dull thunk.

"Welcome to Grimm Studies and Basic Defense," he said in a slightly bored tone. "You're here because unless someone teaches you how to defend yourselves, you'll all be dead by this time next year, and I'm here because your Headmaster has apparently decided it should be me." He surveyed them all with his visible eye, looking unimpressed. 

"If you're gonna screw around in my class this year, get out now and don't come back," he continued, gesturing toward the door. "I personally don't give a damn if any of you gets carried off by a Nevermore, and I won't waste my time teaching anyone who doesn't take their own mortality seriously." He stood silently, as if waiting for one of them to take him up on his offer, and even no one dared move a muscle, he picked up his bottle again, then banged his hand against the blackboard; it made a curious sound, like metal against rock.

Lines began to spread from beneath his hand, forming themselves into words and the shape of gaping jaws…wicked spines...then a long, black tail… until a drawing started back at Harry, one that depicted perfectly the monstrous rats that had plagued his dreams that summer.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vilkas is even more of a useless drunk than Qrow and he doesn't even have the defense of being good at his job.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so uh
> 
> Here's a crossover no one asked for that I'm going to keep writing until I run out of ideas.
> 
> Enjoy?
> 
> Also, apologies if formatting is weird, I am unfamiliar with Ao3 formatting but I'm workin' on it.


End file.
